One Last Day
by ThePenWielder
Summary: This is in chapter 17 of Catching Fire when Peeta and Katniss are in the Capitol for the Quarter Quell. They are excused from taining and interview for the day, so where else do they find themselves but the roof? One-shot.


**So, here's just a little one-shot that goes into lots of detail of just exactly Katniss and Peeta did that day on the Training Center roof in Catching Fire. It's just a short, kinda fluffly thing, but I got inspired write it and here it is! I'm still working on writing Hunger Games fanfiction so any feedback is much appreciated! **  
><strong>Read and enjoy :)<strong>

KPOV-

Peeta and I get to spend an entire glorious day on the roof. Just him and me with no disturbances. We eat lunch looking across the vast city. A glittering metropolis so distinctly different from our small coal dusted town. My heart aches, longing for home, but I push it down and focus on my time with Peeta. If I'm being true to myself, he is all I have left. I've let everyone else go.

Everyone expect for Peeta: the last person I assumed would stand with me until the end and beyond. The pair of us stroll the luscious gardens, talk, laugh, play games, and for once, are completely normal. It's a good warm feeling, one I could live with. Right now he makes me happy, right now is what I have to die for. But enough of this depressing dying business.

Once we discover the bouncing the apple off the force field game, things get exhilarating. What starts off as a good laugh turns quickly into a friendly competition. Five points for a regular catch and ten points if you have to jump or dive for it. Tossing the apple is such a simple, lighthearted escape, we soon find ourselves laughing often and taking pleasure in these last few precious hours more than ever.

"Come on, you think you got what it takes?" I taunt towards the end of the game. We're neck and neck with Peeta at 65 points and myself at 70.

"Bring it on," Peeta urges, readying himself.

I throw it forcefully and the apple banks off way to the left. Diving fast towards the apple, Peeta miraculously catches it, holds it, and then rolls into a giant patch of flowers. At first I worry. If he took that fall wrong he could be injured, hours away from the Games. I know he hasn't perfected the use of that prosthetic leg quite yet, even if he will never admit it.

Fortunately, Peeta pops up from the middle of the flowerbed, grinning wildly with stray flowers clinging to his clothes and hair. He clutches the apple in one hand. The sight of him all triumphant looking might have gone over better if he didn't look like a hippie with all those flowers.

"I win," he declares happily, still beaming.

"Yes, Peeta Mellark, King of the Flowers, wins," I chuckle. "Should I make you a crown?"

He's still making the goofy but endearing grin, but a somewhat perplexed expression crosses his face. Peeta picks a violently orange blossom off his shoulder and runs a hand through his hair. Most of the petals fall out so Peeta assumes they are all gone. Somehow I just don't have the heart to tell him how many more are lingering.

"You only taunt to hide your immense disappointment at loosing to someone with a fake leg," Peeta sympathizes in mockery.

I raise my eyebrows. "Pretty sharp words for a boy still covered it flowers," I smirk.

"Don't make me come over there," he threatens teasingly.

"Oh, yeah?" I snort. "Come and get me," I say and take off running through the garden. Even with the prosthetic leg I can feel Peeta right behind me. Although, I also may have slowed down a bit for his benefit. Where is the fun if it's only a one sided race?

"Gonna have to be better than that if you want to catch me," I yelled as he lags even further behind, thundering as loud as an elephant. Actually, make that a herd of elephants.

I run behind a near clump of trees and dive into the thicket of bushes. Peeta comes jogging around the tree cluster, running awkwardly on his leg. Watching that, I wonder for probably he hundredth time what it must feel like to be missing a limb. How it effects his everyday life, if he can often forget it's not really there, if he worries about it as constantly as I do.

Peeta pauses when he realizes he doesn't know where I've gone and peeks around quizzically. Creeping silently from my hiding spot, I position myself for an ambush. It's all too easy, Peeta still just standing there with a wary eye out for me, but I can't help myself. I break out into a sprint, rushing him from the side, but he notices me at the last second. I end up tackling him right smack in the chest and we plummet into the abnormally squishy, comforting grass. It's most likely designed to ensure no tributes can hurt themselves or anyone else, even accidentally, before the Games; just how everything in the building is modeled.

We tumble to a stop, both completely breathless and grinning.

"I think I win this time," I say in satisfaction, rolling on my side to look at him. He does the same.

"I am at a clear disadvantage," he says, smiling. A few locks of hair have fallen into my face and Peeta absentmindedly tucks them back into place, like it's the most natural thing in the world. This love thing is just so easy for him. His hand, cool in the warm sun, lingers for a flash before pulling away. And just like that the moment is over.

"Be right back, I want to grab my sketchpad I left with the food. Want anything?" he asks suddenly, standing up and brushing off his pants.

"I kinda want some more of those walnuts, but I can get them," I tell him, but he's already off.

"Don't worry about it. Stay where you are. I got it," Peeta promises, and throws a smile to me over his shoulder as he goes.

While he's gone I flip over onto my stomach and practice knotting nearby vines together like I had been trying to learn the pervious day. There isn't too much effort being put into it, only idle exercise to keep my fingers occupied. When Peeta returns, he plops down the bad of nuts in front of me and leans against a close by tree with the sketchpad balancing on his knee.

"Thanks," I acknowledge gratefully, digging my hand into the bag.

For a bit longer I weave the vines into complicated knots while Peeta draws silently in his book. There is a comfortable peace between us for a fairly extensive period of time before I eventually catch Peeta watching me. The guilty way he shoots his eyes back down to his paper in hopes I won't notice arises my suspicions immediately. He bashfully ducks his head down under his ash blonde hair.

"What are you drawing?" I question slowly.

"Same thing I've been drawing." He avoids the question entirely.

"Peeta," I warn, "you better not be drawing what I think you're drawing." His silence is the only answer I need. "Come on, there are nearly fifty different kinds of beautiful, amazing flowers up here you could be sketching," I complain self-consciously, twisting away from his penetrating gaze.

"And I'm drawing the most beautiful one," Peeta admits softly. There he goes again, making it seem so darn easy.

After burying my face in the foliage for an embarrassing instant, I plead, "At least let me see it."

"It's not done yet," he mutters, flipping it closed.

"Just show it to me," I sigh and crawl towards him, hoping to snatch the pad away. Unfortunately, he places a firm hand on top of it. "Please?"

Peeta then rolls his eyes in a 'how do you expect me to say no now' sort of way and flicks open the book. The page it falls open to is a drawing of girl lying on her stomach, vines tangled around her. But she is looking forward with a half smile on her face and head tilted a little to the left. In the background there are faint trees and plants outlined, but only as if they are an after though. The clear focus of the picture is the girl; me, staring at the artist in a way I can merely describe as lovingly. Is that really how I look at Peeta?

"This is amazing," I whisper, astounded.

"I just draw what I see," Peeta says modestly, shrugging.

"You have a wonderful gift," I compliment and hand back over the sketchpad.

For the rest of the afternoon, Peeta shows me more of his illustrations upon my request. Many feature myself, but others are everyday scenes. As we carefully scan each page I begin to see a side of the boy with the bread I've never witnessed before. Be the end of the slideshow I have decided to make him a flower crown in honor of his newly bestowed title, made from orange flowers. When I present it to him, Peeta wears it proudly with a smile on his face.

Hours later, with my head in his lap, I almost fall asleep. I sit up to lean against the tree by the time the sun goes down. In the twilight, Peeta's features soften while he rests his head against the tree, eyes shut. Something comes over me then; an overwhelming comprehension of just how much this boy actually means to me. A deep stirring inside my chest brings forth an ravenous urge, desiring the same burning hunger from those many months ago in our cold, damp cave.

Acting on my stupid impulsiveness, I lean over and gently kiss his lips. The rightness I feel from the second we touch leaves me breathless. I realize how much I miss this, miss Peeta. I only hold it for a short moment, afraid of what his reaction may be. After the way I treated him and the iciness of the last year, a kiss won't be taken lightly. Peeta's eyes flutter open lazily and a small grimace distorts his mouth.

"Where's the cameras?" he remarks bitterly.

Since it all happened so fast I don't have time to think about what he'd say, but it's not that. He accusation stings. I care about him off camera as well, even if I'm not the greatest at showing it. My hand that had made its way to his shoulder grips the fabric of his shirt nervously. I guess I haven't been able to show it as well as I though I might have.

"Screw the cameras," I mutter. "This is for me… for you."

Not wanting to hear another rejection, not from the one person I have left, I blindly kiss him again. I push all other thoughts out of my mind. I concentrate completely on the feel of the kiss before I'll inevitably be pushed away. The seconds tick by and my kiss slowly becomes less fierce, yet I still have not been thrust away. Instead, Peeta grabs the back of neck and kisses me deeply for a few wonderful moments. Too soon it's over.

"What about Gale?" he whispers, still holding me. There's so much regret in his eyes it makes my heart ache.

"Gale is gone. And I'm happy you're here with me. Well, not happy that you have to be here again. Not like that. But if someone had to be here with me to help each other through this, I'm glad it's you," I confess ineptly. This is so not the cool, calm, and collected edge I had been hoping for. I'm not the one for heart to heart talks.

"Really?" Peeta asks skeptically. "You're really choosing me over Gale?"

I blush. "I choose not to shut out the one person I still care about and have left." I silently beg for there to be no relationship talk. Please, just leave it at this. It could be so simple. "Right now I'm here with you. Isn't that enough?"

He watches me closely for a minutes. "Yes," he nods contemplatively. "That's good enough for me."

Breathing out a very audible sigh of relief, I rest me forehead against Peeta's and let my eyelids slip shut. Right there I want to tell him everything. I want to tell him how sorry I am for all the sorrow, frustration, and heartbreak I've put him through this past year. I want to tell him I would love him as much as he loves me if I could. And more than anything, I want to let Peeta know I'm ready to give my life up for him. That I'm willing to sacrifice my everything in the arena so he can survive. How I am completely ready to do it without any doubts.

But I don't. I don't say anything at all. Instead, I let Peeta kiss me soft and slow. It wasn't a burning kiss like before, but it's warm, comforting, and just so Peeta. After all the loneliness and lack of human closeness, I treasure whatever can even touch that spark inside of me anymore. The one that has been dormant for so long now, but is slowly rekindled with the gradual return of Peeta.

We stay up on the rooftop until long after the last rays of sun have disappeared; neither of us speaking until we slip back down to my room. Peeta brings his crown of orange flowers with him and sets it on my bedside table before showering. By the time he emerges from the bathroom, damp hair curling around his temples, I am sitting in the middle of the bed with the blossoms in my lap. As I gaze at the mellow, soothing color, Peeta's favorite color, I think about how there is no better way I would have preferred to spend today. My last free day with Peeta. Both of us being as close to happy as we possibly can.

"Peeta, today was…" I begin to say, but the last word gets caught in my throat.

He sits down and wraps me in a hug, kissing my equally wet hair. "Perfect," he supplies quietly.

I swallow past the lump in my throat with difficulty and nod. My own arms go around him as I shift into his lap, the flowers forgotten. Peeta's clean, fresh scent washes over me as I lay my head on his shoulder. While twirling his smooth hair in between my fingers, we talk late into the night. Every time my eyes start to shut I pry them open again, not willing to let our perfect day come to an end quite yet. Each time they close I have the urge to see his face serene, contented, one last time before it all gets taken away. When we finally fall asleep, the first specks of the sunrise showing out the window, it's twisted together in each others' arms until morning.


End file.
